


i know i probably should--

by Crykea



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, T for nightmare stuff, secret snickerdoodle!, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Crykea
Summary: Jon and Daisy both have nightmares. While their experience isn’t the same, they can still sympathize with one another and help the best they can.
Relationships: (a bit) - Relationship, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	i know i probably should--

**Author's Note:**

> This is for jasper! find them @captaincravatthecapricious :) I love these two. I was extremely soft while writing this. The first part is a possibly unset

A cool tendril of recognition drips from Jon’s eyes as he stares straight ahead. His eyes are watering from not blinking, but his brain is too scrambled. It feels as though if he even dares to look away, those greasy, cold hands will take him. As he stands, there are already a couple of-- dozen-- a few-- some hands-- arms-- fingers-- hands-- his hands-- a few hands gripping tightly onto him-- his-- him-- his-- its?-- a pair of arms. Tears stream down his cheeks and he isn’t sure they're water and not blood. 

Dark thoughts slip through a mind-- his mind like ink, coating his brain. His brain? His brain. His Brain.  _ His brain _ is collapsing under the weight of intensely hot knowledge and intensely cool emptiness. An older woman’s voice creaks out from a tape recorder that stands in front of him adjusting its glasses. He hasn’t had his head crushed in yet, but there’s no time to stop what hasn’t already happened. He is a failure. He could have stopped this. There is no way out of the wax institute. The Magnus museum. Wax Museum. 

A mannequin reaches out a hand. It holds Jon’s chin, tilting it from side to side-- up and down-- A shoulder slams into his from behind. Connected to the shoulder is a muscular light brown arm. There are holes in the arm-- his arm-- no-- his--  _ his _ arm is connected to a body which is connected to a--

Tim is holding a remote control tightly in his grasp-- Jon’s hand is shaking around the-- Tim’s-- The hands that are Tim’s shake around the remote in his hand which is  _ not _ melting and is  _ not _ a tape recorder. 

“Tim.” A question exists in his head that sits dormant in his tone. A fist connects with a face. One of those is his probably-- a face, “What do you see?”

“I see my--” Fire-- An explosion-- The vacuum of unending heat interrupts The-- Tim, and Jon sat up coated in sweat and shaking in the safe room cot. The heat had kicked on in the archives, and the safe room, which was sealed tight enough to trap air in, seems to have heated intolerably in the-- Jon looks at his phone-- three hours he had been asleep.

The cot creaked as he stood up, picking his cell phone up off the floor. Three in the morning, and nothing to do. He supposed he could go out for a walk to get some fresh air if he was feeling particularly brave, but with his track record, he knew that wasn’t actually an option. Sighing, he rolled his neck and stretched the cramps from his back and shoulders. He popped some earbuds from the desk into his ears, and switched on The Archers, heading to the door.

If he couldn’t go for a normal walk outside, a walk around the Institute would have to do. He just hoped that his walking didn’t wake his coworkers who were sleeping beneath him in the tunnels. There was always work to do and statements to record if he wanted, but the dream left a bad taste in his mouth, and he found he wasn’t hungry. His hands continued to shake where they were locked around his phone. The breathing exercises didn’t seem to do anything to calm his jitters, and he was sure his little walk around the dark hallways of the Institute wasn’t helping his nerves at all.

After ten minutes, he turned off the audio drama but kept the earbuds in. Nowadays when he was constantly bombarded by high definition stimuli, it was nice to have the earbuds in muffling one of his senses. Five minutes after that, he came to the decision that the walk was doing nothing for him. He quietly made his way back to the Archives to sit in the soft old couch that sat in the break room. His breath was still shaky, but it wasn’t coming as fast as it had been.

As he turned the corner, he noticed a shadowy figure in the hall, and he immediately jumped back from it. The shaking, which had also somewhat died down, started up again with fervour as he tugged the buds from his ears, and clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle his breathing. The click of hard-soled shoes made its way slowly down the hallway in his direction, slow, stalking, he should run he should--

It was hard to breathe with his hand covering his mouth, but he didn’t want to alert whatever it was walking toward him that he was there, or that he was afraid of them. Eventually, the footsteps stopped before the corner he was hidden behind. He silently cursed himself for not bringing a weapon of some sort. Melanie’s knife would do a great deal in making him feel more secure, but even Martin’s corkscrew would have worked in a flash. Time seemed to move at a slower pace as Jon resolved himself, and jumped out, arms up in a blocking position, to face the creature.

He collided with it-- her?-- however, as they seemed to both have the same idea.

“Jon?!” 

“Daisy?!” The two stood tangled together as they’d tried to right themselves upon colliding, looking incredulously at the other, “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” Daisy said, moving her arms from where they were wrapped around Jon’s back to grip his shoulders so that she could step away, clearing her throat as she did so, “In the spirit of openness, I had a nightmare. Didn’t want to wake Basira with it. It’s stupid, nevermind.”

“That’s not stupid. I mean, I did the same.” He stood for a moment, shuffling his hands about his pockets, and twirling his earphone cord, “Do you want to...talk about it?”

“I think I’d like a drink.”

“Well I don’t think any of the local bars are--”

“Of water, Jonathan.”

“Ah. Yes of course. Right, this way.” He rubbed his knuckles over his mouth awkwardly as though miming sealing his lips. They walked in silence together to the break room. Upon arriving, he busied himself with filling a glass of water for Daisy. It was nice to have something to do with his hands. Maybe this was why Martin was always--

He filled the kettle and pulled down a couple of mugs from the cupboard.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” He asked, already reaching up to pull down the container. He had to stand on his toes to even reach the top shelf and eventually had to crawl partially onto the counter. It had been a very long time since he’d had hot chocolate. He usually stuck to coffee or tea, these days. Besides, the container was placed out of reach on purpose. Sure, Martin could have grabbed it, but he didn’t really have a sweet tooth and hadn’t drunk hot chocolate since he was 24 years old and out on a date with--

He closed the door, which had cracked open without his knowledge. The only person who could reach the container was Tim, and no one had ever thought to get rid of it after the… Jon took a deep breath, frozen hugging the container to his chest, allowing the scent of chocolate to drift up to him. He felt his eyes water and realized he hadn’t heard Daisy respond.

Slowly, he spun around, repeating the question. The direct question snapped Daisy out of a reverie-- so he hadn’t missed a response then-- and Jon distantly noted that she had been scratching painful lines up and down her forearms. At her quiet acknowledgement, which Jon took as a yes, he divvied up the powder between glasses and poured the now boiled water. Daisy took a sip of her water as if she’d forgotten it was there in the first place.

Jon sat down, just far enough away to give Daisy room while still being on the same couch. She made a sound and gestured with her hands, and her water glass, to come closer, so he did. She laid her head on his shoulder leading him to instinctively place his head on top of hers. If she was feeling trapped, Jon knew she would tell him or at least push him away.

“Is it weird that I miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Being in the buried?” Daisy’s voice was quiet and crackly.

“I don’t think it’s strange to miss something like that. After 8 months I think it becomes a new normal, so it’s only natural to miss it in a way, I suppose.” He reached over to pick up his hot chocolate from the table, not finding it in him to drink it. It seemed so small, insignificant and silly to get emotional over a cup of hot chocolate. “Is that what your dream was about?”

Daisy made a noise of acknowledgement instead of answering, choosing to take another sip of her water instead. They sat in silence for another while before Daisy moved closer to Jon.

“Did you want to talk about yours?” She asked quickly followed by an, “Is this okay? I kind of need touch right now, but I can back off if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Ah, uh, yes it’s fine. It was about the Unknowing. It was about Tim. And Nikola. Fire.” His voice was halting, so he took a drink of his warm hot chocolate, and wrapped an arm around Daisy’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to say if you can’t or don’t want to,” Daisy said carefully. Jon hummed around the lid of the mug. Daisy set her glass of water down on the table. “Do you want a distraction, or is the silence better?”

“Quiet, I think. Touch is good too. What about you?”

“Quiet as well.” She replied simply before moving her arms to wrap around his middle. 

Daisy was warm just like the ceramic mug in his hand, and Jon slowly felt himself begin to drift. He eventually set the now-cold mug of hot chocolate down on the table in front of them and collapsed into Daisy. He could have sworn she was half asleep, but as soon as he leaned down to bury his face in her shoulder, she brought up a hand to run through his hair. The ministrations slowed with Daisy’s breath, and wrapped up in warmth with the calming rhythm of Daisy's breath, Jon felt himself drift off as well.

  
  


Martin knew that his coworkers were sleeping at the Institute now, but it was usually incredibly easy to avoid them as long as he got to work early in the morning. Without the pressure to work, the bunch of them had no qualms with sleeping in, and barely working anymore at all it seemed. Jon was usually awake early, but as long as Martin kept his trip to the Archives just to the breakroom to fill his thermos, he usually had no issues. 

As the sun rose, fog rose around him, leaching the golden rays from the air before they could reach him fully. He shivered and drew his cardigan tighter around himself. The Institute always seemed to be shrouded in shadow, and this morning was no different. He let himself into the building with Peter’s keys (it wasn’t like he needed them), and stretched, wincing as his back and shoulders popped.

It was strange to come into work before any of the staff got there. There was an odd sense of peace that he got from being the only one there-- the only one awake-- that only came with being up early. Rosie’s desk was empty, but she had a new bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk beside her mouse, which, if Martin had to guess, were probably from Sonja. She would probably be popping the question any day now. Martin was distantly sad that he’d have to miss it.

In the archives, the desks were empty. Melanie had forgotten to turn off her computer again, but Martin didn’t care. They could waste all the electricity they wanted in the place; it wasn’t like Martin was the one paying the utility bills. As he pushed through the doors that led deeper into the archives, he took note of the empty desks. The breakroom was just down the corner and it was early enough that there was no way he would run into anyone, but he still found himself quieting his footsteps as much as possible. 

He jumped when he turned the corner to the breakroom, immediately crushing down the urge to turn tail and run. Daisy and Jon sat tangled together on the breakroom couch, two cold mugs of hot chocolate and a glass of water forgotten in front of them. He stood frozen for a moment until he heard Daisy snore quietly. They were asleep.

Pushing his luck, he quietly crept into the room, filled the kettle, and turned it on. It might have been creepy, but he stood for a moment just watching the two of them. They were so close together that he couldn’t tell whether it was Jon who was in Daisy’s lap or Jon in Daisy’s, but Daisy had one hand in his hair, and Jon had his arm slung around Daisy’s neck. Martin waited for the usual jealousy to bubble inside of him, but all he found was a chilling numbness. The kettle finished boiling behind him.

On the counter beside the kettle was a container or hot chocolate. Tim’s container of hot chocolate. That stung. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes before closing the container and placing it back on Tim’s shelf. He couldn’t help but look for a blanket to cover the two on the couch as he left the room. Daisy stirred slightly in her sleep, making him retreat quickly, although, by her breathing, it seemed as though she’d gone right back to sleep.

Even though he didn’t have it in him to hold much emotion these days, he felt a little trickle of warmth in his heart. He was doing the right thing. It was all okay. It was worth it. The elevator doors closed behind him as he ascended to the top floor.


End file.
